


The Pamphlet

by protagonistic



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Being Lost, Character Death, Other, Presumed Dead, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:50:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protagonistic/pseuds/protagonistic





	The Pamphlet

Do you remember what coffee tasted like

Before the Rabbits took over?

Was home there?

-or was it where the water reflected a plague? 

Say, say, When Did You Become erased

like a string pulled by the failed god.

She, who likes to devour the weak,

\--the inverted Crusader!

Has been waging a war on a kingdom of feathering doves.

As her own feathers begin to fall.

Our crusader seems to have sharpened the wrong knife,

For, it appears that she’s behind iron

with but broken glasses

and her book on prayers and speeches.

His three sets of powdered wings

pulled me across the sand

and hail

and away from the skulls

of you.

I say!

Leave that tied ribbon of yours on your throat,

So that the sound may not spin any such red silk.

Hey, hey,

Can you remember,

the pull of black thread through a needle

of chicken scratch?

My Sunshine Prince,

with no crown,

a ring of thorns instead

and no throne.

Just a pile of butterfly wings and 

half-eaten apples and

black umbrellas.

The ground is littered with

centipedes and goat horns.

But cannot you see the tar rising?

Look as it swallows me!

No one wants a tragedy anymore,

only a comedy,

for I am the protagonist,

not the Antagonist.

I swear.

Oh please,

please do not look at me like that.

That same look that my mother hit me with;

that cringe!

Stop.

_"You've become a sound so dull"_

I say with a pinch of salt

held between my teeth.

Please do not make me swallow

Anymore

skin,

(Especially yours).

No more criticism of spoken literature.

Please put the book down

and look at me,

really look at me

Because I can't remember what dying tastes like.

My skin tone is cold to pinch

and my mind is full of ticking tock.

The spider webs have clogged our glassy hearts again.

Your face is beginning to null with death

and your body is something of a fitted pose.

I heard that I was asked to a meeting with Death.

She wants to break my bad habits

of a prickly itch that cracks

and pulling on my ear lobes.

After all,

as living and hope go hand in hand,

so does your name and death.


End file.
